The Last Prince of Summerhall
by Will Marshall
Summary: What if there was a third Targaryen Prince during Robert's Rebellion. This brief story follows Aemon, Prince of the ruin of Summerhall, as he leads an army with the purpose of bringing Robert Baratheon to heel at the town of Stoney Sept.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _This was just something that popped into my head, and it kind of wrote itself, I was having trouble with the_ Silver Stag _, so I decided to do this instead._

* * *

" _Rhaegar was a great man, but in the end, he hid in Dorne for most of the rebellion, emerging only for the battle of the Trident. While the other brother, Aemon, rode out to meet Robert. Aemon was the true last dragon, not Rhaegar."_

 _-Thoughts of Ser Barristan Selmy_

* * *

"Your Grace, the army is ready to march."

Aemon stirred from his pondering, the Prince was clad in black enamel plate, astride a destrier decorated with trappings of his personal sigil, two three headed dragons. His helmet, a simple greathelm painted red with wings sprouting from the sides, sat in his left hand while his right gripped the reins. His head snapped up to the knight of the Kingsguard who had approached him.

"Very well Ser Jaime, we had better get moving. Baratheon won't keep waiting."

The long file of men bearing the Royal banner moved with speed, for Stoney Sept, where the rebel leader was alleged to be hiding, was only a few hours march away. _We must hurry, if we are to put down the rebellion now, though maybe Lord Connington has already found him._ The latest Hand of the King, the best friend of his older brother, had force marched ahead of the Prince's force with a third of their men, some ten thousand, with the intention of capturing the rebel before the Royalist force arrived to reinforce the town against the approaching combined armies of the houses Stark, Arryn, and Tully. _But where is Lord Tywin, where are the men of the Westerlands?_

Aemon had dispatched envoys west via the Gold Road in an effort to bring his goodfather into the war, hoping that the swelling stomach of his daughter might sway his support toward the crown. Cersei had obviously resented being fobbed off to the King's second son, but they had developed love toward one another over the thought of their child growing inside of her. They had spent ample time together since their marriage, strolling the gardens of the Red Keep, riding through the Kingswood. It was her favor he bore during the tourney of Harrenhal, a red cloth stitched with golden lions that had eyes the same shade of violet as his. He had wistfully returned it after Ser Barristan had left him lying in the dust. It was returned to him as he prepared to leave the Red Keep. " _Come back to me, our cub needs a father"._ Her last words to him before he left the capital still lingered in his thoughts.

With Ser Jaime Lannister beside him, Aemon Targaryen, Prince of Summerhall, rode forth to seek battle with Robert Baratheon at Stoney Sept.

* * *

When they entered the town, there was intense fighting in the streets, Lord Connington had been searching for two whole days when he stumbled upon Robert Baratheon in a whorehouse. Aemon rode through the gates with his great helm on his head, his men flooding in behind him. They were all screaming battlecries such as "KING'S LANDING" "AERYS" and "SUMMERHALL" The knights in Aemon's vanguard had smashed into the chaos, turning the tide of the battle. Connington's men, caught unawares by the Stormlanders, now charged again into the fray with after seeing the new forces enter. The bells of the sept for which the town gained its name tolled as the battle raged. Aemon was still riding, his sword flashing in the sun, his horse knocking aside Baratheon men. He turned to his men and shouted "Make safe the city!" when he was knocked from the saddle. Luckily, his war horse panicked, splinters from his kite shield piercing it's flank. The thrashing beast was the only thing that saved Aemon from the wrath of Robert Baratheon's warhammer. Aemon dived for his sword as the rebel lord swung his hammer. The shield caught it, and his last protection was knocked away as he fell to the ground. Aemon began the crawl backwards until he reached his sword.

Robert advanced, a fire in his eyes. "Where is she!? Where is your pissant of a brother!?"

Aemon didn't respond, instead leaping forward, poised to stab the hulking Baratheon. Robert knocked the blade aside, and jabbed into Aemon's stomach, knocking the breath from the Prince. His helmet was knocked off in the fall, one of the dragon wings snapping off as it tumbled to the ground. Baratheon advanced again, warhammer raised. "Where is the bastard!" Again, Aemon did not grant an answer. By this time, Robert had evidently grown tired of asking, for he hefted up the warhammer, and prepared to crush Aemon...until he was knocked off his feet by a charging Jaime Lannister. Two of Robert's men dragged their leader away as the young lion took on four of their comrades at the same time, dispatching them with ease as Aemon recovered his helmet and sword.

Watching Robert Baratheon flee down the street infuriated Aemon, for his fighting blood was up, and he could not stand to see the rebellion carry on with Robert. "A horse! A horse!" He cried, and one of his archers brought a captured horse to him.

The Baratheon forces had been driven out of the city, and were being routed northward across the fields surrounding it. Aemon and his men pursued them, with the Prince leading his cavalry, they split Robert's force in three pieces, while one part was in full retreat, two remained separated. These two forces were fighting the Royalists as they withdrew at a slow pace toward the ridge where Robert had evidently rallied his men.

A great cheer went up as first the left group, then the right, were shattered and ran north ward. Aemon took the time to sort his men back into order, telling Lord Connington; "We go no further past that ridgeline, not until we know where the other rebels are." The lords and their captains galloped to an fro in an effort to reorganize the army when Ser Jaime cried "Look to the ridge! Banners!"

The first rebel banners had begun to reach the summit of the ridge, the direwolf of house Stark, the falcon and moon of house Arryn, and the trout of house Tully. Aemon froze as thousands of men emerged into view. "By all the Gods, Rhaegar, what have you done?"

The Prince snapped back into awareness "Lord Connington, get the foot back into the city. Ser Jaime, form the cavalry for a charge."

The two men galloped off to carry out their orders, Ser Jaime crying; "Reform the line! Reform the line!"

The Royalist cavalry formed into a wedge, and with Ser Jaime at his side, Aemon shouted to them; "We meet them head on! For the Gods and King Aerys, we meet them head on!"

Aemon pointed his sword forward; "Sound the charge!" With horns sounding, men yelling at the top of their lungs, Aemon, son of Aerys, and Jaime, son of Tywin, led six thousand men toward the might of the North, Riverlands, and Vale.

During the charge, it seemed to Aemon as though time had slowed, he took this time as he thundered across the field, to whisper to himself, "I'm sorry Cersei, our child will never know their father, but they will know that he died well, with a sword in his hand."

* * *

 _Now I leave it too the readers to decide whether I should continue with this story, and whether Aemon should live by the skin of his teeth, or die like a hero._

 _The choice is yours._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _Wow, you guys seem to really like Aemon, So it seems he gets to live. Now I have to figure out how this will play out in the long run, but I think I have a general idea._

* * *

The Rebels had been surprised by the Prince's charge, the Royalists had driven through the enemy line like a hot knife through butter. They were still outnumbered, but they fought like demons, Aemon especially. Robert Baratheon had slipped through his fingers once, and he would not let it happen again. His horse had been killed by some knight from the Vale, whose head was now nearly split in two. Aemon was slashing to and fro, screaming like a demon from the seven hells. Ser Jaime had long been separated from him, but Aemon felt as though no blade could touch him. A man with the red stallion of house Bracken on his surcoat ran towards him, but was slashed across the belly, his innards spilling onto the dirt. Aemon moved to finish him off, but a blue clad figure slammed into him. The duel began, the two warriors circling one another, one clad in black with red dragons, the other in blue with a falcon and moon. _Denys Arryn,_ thought Aemon, _the Young Falcon._ With a cry of "Fire and Blood!" Aemon launched himself at the falcon knight, his sword like a whirlwind.

Sparks flew as the two swords clashed against one another, Denys met every blow Aemon threw at him, and it seemed that they were at a standstill, until Aemon slowed on one strike, and Denys punched his shield into Aemon's winged helmet, knocking him back. Denys leaped forward, aiming to stab Aemon in the stomach, but Aemon knocked the incoming sword aside, and slashed Denys across the chest. Denys sunk to one knee, Aemon wound back for the killing blow, and a word escaped the Young Falcon's helmet; " _Rowena"_ before Aemon's sword flashed down his torso.

Aemon crouched next to the dead knight, lifting open Denys' visor. The face staring toward the heavens was handsome, with pale blue eyes and blond hair. It seemed as though he were just peacefully gazing up at the clouds. Aemon noticed a small edge of green cloth poking from his vambrace, he pulled on it, and it was revealed to be a Lady's favor, stitched with a broken wheel. _Rowena Waynwood, of course, they have a son, most likely at Ironoaks or the Eyrie, who now has no father, because of me._ He thoughts were permeated by all the faces of the men he had killed in the previous hours, from knights to common levies. _Damn you and your lust, Rhaegar, why couldn't you forget the Stark girl?_ Aemon took off his greathelm, and placed Denys' hands on his chest, one grasping his sword, and the other now holding his wife's favor. Aemon felt a tear slide down his cheek. "I am so sorry, forgive me, please, know that I did not want to do this to you, to your family, forgive me."

It was then that he felt the presence of another man approach. Aemon stood as he turned to face the new comer. "Lord Stark"

"Prince Aemon" came the quiet response. "Where is my sister?"

Aemon put on his helmet, and sighed. "Even if I knew, I would not betray my brother, fool though he may be."

They had begun to slowly circle one another, Denys' body laying in between them. Eddard jerked his head toward the knight. "You were honorable with him."

Aemon glanced toward _Ice_ , the valyrian steel glinting in the sunlight, "I pray you treat me the same way."

"I will." Nearly a whisper, then the Quiet Wolf leapt on the wounded dragon.

They hacked at each other for what seemed like ages, Aemon had long since lost the last of the ornamental wings on his helmet, leaving only a stump on the right side. Eddard wore only a plain bascinet, overall being more lightly armored than Aemon. _Ice_ gave him the advantage though, with it's longer reach than Aemon's plain arming sword. The valyrian steel gave the Northern lord an advantage, as Aemon's blade was already showing chips in the edge.

Suddenly, they're blades locked, and Aemon shoved Eddard backwards, he would have kept his footing, but he tripped on Denys' discarded shield. Eddard tumbled to the ground, and Aemon knocked _Ice_ from his hand. The Prince stood over him, poised to end his life. "I am truly sorry for your Father and Brother, I would have done the same in your place."

Eddard closed his eyes and thought to himself; _Too many widows are being made in this war_ , and prepared himself for death.

But Aemon's sword did not pierce him, and Eddard opened his eyes.

Standing above him, shock in his eyes was Aemon, with a crossbow bolt piercing his abdomen. The Prince took a stumbling step back, and men began to surround him. Evidently, the Royalist cavalry had been routed or destroyed, and now the Rebels were closing in on the Prince. Aemon looked around, he withdrew a red cloth from around his sword arm, kissed it, and leaped at the nearest man. "Fire and Blo-"

Three more bolts pierced his body.

Aemon collapsed into the dirt, his sword leaving his grasp. Eddard limped over to him, and crouched at his side. He removed the red helmet, and saw not a fearless warrior, but a scared boy, just shy of his eighteenth name day. "My sword." He gasped.

Eddard placed onto his chest, like the Prince had done with Denys Arryn. A trembling hand clutched the hilt. "Promise me, no harm will come to my wife, Cersei, and our child. Promise me, Lord Eddard."

"I promise" The Lord of Winterfell stood and raised _Ice,_ meaning to end the Prince's suffering.

Aemon nodded, resignment in his eyes."It is good that I should die at pea-"

Aemon's words were drowned out by a shout, Robert had forced his way through the crowd. "Well done Ned! You killed the little dragonspawn!"

"It was not I that killed him, but the crossbowmen."

"Hah! The little shit is dead nonetheless! A dead Targaryen is a good Targaryen!"

He turned to the assembled army; "Let this be a lesson to that bastard Rhaegar! And his mad father too! My horse! Ser Willem, tie that rope around the bastard's feet."

Realization dawned on Eddard. "No Robert, you can not do that to him, enemy or no, he was a Prince of the Blood."

"Blood from parents who were siblings, the same blood of the man who had your Father and Brother killed, the same blood of the man who kidnapped your sister!"

"No enemy should be treated in such a way Robert, regardless of who they are."

A man approached leading Robert's horse, Robert growled. "Careful now Ned, I may love you like a brother, but I will treat this dragonspawn the way he deserves."

With that, the Rebel lord mounted his horse, took the end of the robe from the knight holding it, and began to ride toward Stoney Sept. Eddard followed him, unable to believe what he saw. It was here that Jon Arryn pushed his way through the crowd to him. "Eddard, what is Robert doing?"

"Making an example."

"What do you me-" The older man had caught a glimpse of Aemon, his arms splayed out behind him. "No, he cannot be serious, he would lower himself below King Aerys!"

"So it would seem."

"You must stop him Eddard, he will only listen to you!"

"I tried Jon, I tried, he will not listen to reason."

"By all the Gods, he cannot do this!"

But Robert did, and once he approached within one hundred yards of the city's walls, he began to gallop back and forth, the Prince dragging along behind him. Robert was shouting things such as; "Come out and fight Connington! You traitor!" and "Rhaegar can expect worse!"

Roughly twenty thousand men were still inside the city, including one bloody and dusty Jaime Lannister, who had been carried away on horseback, still screaming "Stand and fight!" even when he, and the barely three hundred survivors of Aemon's charge, had passed the gates.

The young Lion now stood on the walls with Jon Connington, listening to Robert's jeers. "I swear by the Warrior, I will see him dead."

The Hand of the King nodded, and turned to his captains. "Have the men told that if the Rebels attack the walls, then we will fight to the last, for Prince Aemon. But we should still prepare to evacuate through the south gate, if we march through the night, we can get a head start down the Gold Road, we are not beaten, and if Aemon could do that much damage to them, then Rhaegar will be able to finish them off."

The captains scattered, shouting out orders to their men. Robert Baratheon had provoked no actions from the Royalists, so he tossed aside the rope attached to Aemon, and galloped back toward his men, who greeted him with cheers. Jaime then turned to Connington; "Let me retrieve his body."

The Lord of Griffin's Roost raised an eyebrow. "No, you would be within bowshot, and I cannot risk you."

"We cannot leave him out there."

"I like it no more than you, but we cannot risk ourselves over one dead man."

"You would let me go if it were his older brother."

"Watch your tongue Ser, I command here, and we leave at nightfall."

Jaime stormed off, as the soldiers, who had only just arrived from King's Landing, prepared to march straight back.

* * *

"This rain was a godsend." He muttered to himself. Jaime could see the lanterns shining from the walls, but he knew that there would be no soldiers inside the city. Connington and his men had seized their chance with the torrential rainstorm, and had marched east about three hours ago, hoping to get a good enough head start away from the Rebels. Jaime, however, did not leave with them, waiting instead in the loft of a stable until the Royalists had departed.

He wore a dark cloak, with the hood pulled up so that the cowl was level with his eyes. He scrambled along in the dark, searching desperately for his sister's husband. _He has to be here somewhere, this was where Robert left him._ Jaime looked scrambled around in the mud, looking for some sign of the Prince. _He was here, I know it._

Jaime was preparing to give up the search when he heard the slightest noise, not a far away thunder clap, but not the fall of rain drops. _A cough, it was a cough, he's here, Aemon lives._ The lightning flashed, and Jaime could barely make out his pale, silvery blonde hair. He slipped through the mud over to him. In the bursts of lightning, he was able to make out the dragon on his surcoat. The Prince's face was half spattered with mud, and deathly pale. Taking one of his arms, Jaime threw Aemon over his shoulder, which received a groan of pain from the wounded man.

Jaime had to carry him through the mud for half an hour before they reached a copse of trees, where the young boy was waiting where Jaime had payed him too. "Who's he?" the boy asked, as Jaime threw the prince over the back of the mule he had stolen.

"The bloody Prince of Summerhall, that's who." Jaime spat back, checking to make sure his armor was still in the sack tied to the saddle. He started to lead the mule away, then tossed a single gold coin to the boy. "For your help." By the time Jaime and Aegon had disappeared into the darkness, the boy was still looking at the coin with astonishment, he had never even seen a dragon, Royal or Gold, in his life.

* * *

They had been walking for at least an hour, or rather, Jaime and the mule had. But finally, he could see a house in the distance, a farm, with a surrounding barn and tilled fields. Jaime nearly had to drag the mule across the field, eventually reaching the house. He trudged up to the door and hammered on the locked door. "Open the door, in the name of King Aerys, open the door!"

There was silence, then a scrambling as the door was opened and an older man appeared bearing a lantern. With a gruff voice he barked; "What do you want at this hour!?"

"It's my friend, he's injured, he needs help or he'll die, please, help him."

The man looked over at the mule, bit his lip in thought, then looked at Jaime. "Very well, bring him in."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _Coming to you from the Stormlands AKA North Carolina. Florence has already been turned into a meme here. I just wish bullying a hurricane could make it go away. I worry for the people on the Coastal Plain._

* * *

" _You are my most able servant, Tywin, but a man does not marry his heir to his servant's daughter. A second son would fit better."_

 _-Aerys II Targaryen_

* * *

 _ **Four Weeks Later**_

 **-King's Landing-**

They were in bed together, they had not made love, not so soon after the birth, but she could still feel his warmth, still feel the kisses on her neck from behind. He had one of his arms over her, keeping her close. _Cersei_ he whispered. Her husband, her silver prince, Aemon.

Cersei turned over, intending to return his kisses, but it was then that she returned to reality.

There was no protective arm over her. There were no kisses on her neck. The whisper had only been the wind. Aemon was not there at all. Robert Baratheon had seen to that.

From the nursery, she heard a babe crying. Her little boy had awoken. _Perhaps he too dreams of his father, the father that he will never know._ The Princess of Summerhall hurried to her son. Daeron was in a black painted crib with red dragons carved along the sides. The Queen said it was the one that both Aemon and Viserys had slept in as babes. Rhaella also claimed that Daeron looked just like his father had when he was born, except the gold of his hair was closer to that of his Lannister mother than that of his Targaryen father.

The babe quieted down as his mother picked him up. "Hush little cub, don't worry yourself, you mother is here." She said to her little boy.

As he fed from her breast, she looked out of the window and watched as the sun rose. She began to ponder the news from the previous day, the Hand of the King, Jon Connington, had returned to the capital at the head of a demoralized, mud splattered army.

Connington had told King Aerys of the defeat at Stoney Sept, how Aemon's force had shattered the army of the Stormlands and driven them from the city, how her husband and brother had led their doomed charge, and how after he was slain, Robert Baratheon had dragged his body before the walls. Connington told of how he had waited until nightfall before evacuating his forces from the city, but her brother had not returned with the army, he was missing.

Connington's failure had earned him a banishment from King Aerys.

The Queen had cried for hours, weeping for her son. "My sweet Aemon." She would say. "He should have lived far longer than I." She had held Daeron as much as the babe would let her, gaining comfort from her grandson's smiles and laughter that he gave her. The Queen and Prince Viserys were leaving on a ship at noon tomorrow for Dragonstone.

Cersei now gazed into the violet eyes of her son, the same violet eyes of her now dead husband. At the beginning of their marriage, she had resented Aemon, hating him for not being Jaime or Rhaegar. The Prince had sensed this ice, and in return, had given her nothing but kindness. "You may not be happy with me as your husband, my lady, but you can be sure that I will try to mend this to the best of my ability."

Jaime and Aemon had been friends for the many years that their father served as Hand of the King. Their marriage caused Jaime to begin to spurn her advances, feeling guilty towards his friend. It was a composition of that and the trip when Aemon took her to see the progress of the reconstruction of Summerhall that she began to love him.

They had climbed into the foothills of the Red Mountains. It was not steep, but her husband had been there to aid her if need be. When they reached the ledge Aemon wanted, they looked out at the castle being raised.

"It was originally meant to be a place of leisure, a summer retreat. But when construction is complete, it will be a keep to rival the Great Keeps of the realm. It is here that we will raise our children, they will ride across the fields, hunt in the woods, and have a most breathtaking view of these mountains."

At this, Cersei realized how much Aemon felt for her, how much he would care for their children and it was then that she had kissed him. After a few moments, she decided to reveal to him that she was with child. Her Prince's eyes had widened, and he embraced her tightly, before he had reeled back at the thought of hurting the babe. She had gently laughed at the concern on his face before he kissed her again.

By the time the rebellion had begun, only the inner wall and keep had been constructed, with an outer wall covering only one third of the distance designed. The castle flew the double dragon standard of Aemon, and it's garrison of seven hundred men had sallied out for the battles that would take place there, leaving it defended by just three hundred bloodied and routed men by the time the day was done. Aemon, assembling the royal army in King's Landing sent orders to the garrison commander, Ser Jason Buckwell, to begin raiding Robert's supply lines. This continued until Robert's force was defeated at Ashford.

Having returned to the present, Cersei looked down at the babe in her arms. Daeron had fallen back asleep. He had been born a few days before news of the defeat at Stoney Sept and Aemon's death had arrived. Cersei had named him in honor of one of the Targaryens of old. She had considered Daemon, another old Targaryen king, but the current situation, a rebellion, and the fact of it resembling Aemon too much, she chose Daeron. She stroked one of his tufts of golden hair.

"If we survive this, my cub, you will be a strong warrior, like your uncle, a great commander, like your father, and feared by your enemies, like your grandfather."

* * *

 _ **Two Weeks Later**_

 **-Thatcher's Farm-**

"I want meat, red and rare. No more of this gruel." The Prince growled, throwing down his rough wooden spoon with a clatter.

Jaime sighed. "Not until you are fully healed, and it isn't gruel, it is soup."

Aemon looked longingly at the bread on Jaime's plate that had not yet been eaten. "I never thought how much I would miss eating solid food. I feel infirm, like a feeble old man, having to eat this."

"It is easy on your stomach, you heard Gyles, your insides were damaged by the bolts."

Aemon had taken four crossbow bolts. One in his left shoulder, one through his right thigh, another just above his right hip, and the last taking him in the back. He walked with a slight limp, which the local healer had said he would bear for the rest of his life. The healer also claimed he would have died if not for the long silk shirt he wore beneath his armor. His lower intestine, as it was called by the Maesters, had a small graze which made digesting solid foods near impossible, but infuriated Aemon."Surely they are healed by now, I have my strength back after all."

It was true, Aemon had begun sparring with Jaime in the past week, he could still hold a sword, but his movements had to be slow incase he overexerted himself. "Just a few more days, that's what Gyles said." The young Lion insisted.

"I cannot let my family be left to these Rebels! I hate this inactivity!"

"You are healing, give it a few more days. Then we will ride for King's Landing."

The Prince sighed. They had no news of the Rebellion, because Gyles and Marya, the farming family, thought it better to stay away from the villages and towns what with the Rebellion going on.

"It was during a trip to Stoney Step that I found myself sent off to the Step Stones." Gyles had said during their second week there. "If I recall correctly, our Lord was under a certain knight, Ser Tywin Lannister."

The old man then looked at Jaime closely. "You have the same eyes, like two emeralds they are, and that curly golden mane makes you look just like him. Ser Jaime."

"I _am not_ like my father." Jaime growled, realizing the farce was over. "I never wanted to be lord of Casterly Rock, this is all I ever wanted."

"I recall hearing Ser Tywin say something along the lines of 'I _am not_ like my father.' as well. But no matter."

Turning to Aemon, his eyes bore into him. "No man in that host had eyes as deep a purple as Prince Aerys. Duncan, a dragonseed, you name yourself, I think more like the Aemon whose host you were apart of."

From that moment forward, the two young men had paid more attention to Gyles. He was a seasoned veteran of the War of the Nine-Penny Kings, and new a lot about the gruesome fighting that a soldier turns to in the chaos of battle, a type of fighting that Aemon would probably see in Flea Bottom.

With his three sons gone off to fight in the rebellion, the old man had put them to work on his farm, Jaime was set to chopping wood and other manual labors, while Aemon did more simple tasks such as helping Marya maintain the vegetable garden. The couple did more for them then they should have.

Aemon would not forget the kindness he had been given.

* * *

 _ **One Week Later**_

 **-The Gold Road-**

The might of the West marched before him, men clad with sigils of houses such as Marbrand, Serret, Crakehall, Banefort, Lydden, Brax, and Lefford. But everywhere, above all others, the Golden Lion proudly proclaimed that the Lannisters had joined the fight. His father had been the Toothless Lion, but he would destroy all who opposed him and the Lannister name at the point of a sword. The Reynes and Tarbecks were proof of that.

Tywin Lannister had been shamed by Aerys Targaryen, his only daughter being married off to the King's second son, all she would ever rule was a ruined keep in the Red Mountains.

Upon hearing that she had birthed a son, and Jaime being lost at Stoney Sept, his hand was forced. He would have readily stood by and watched, or even betrayed Aerys, the one who shamed him. But this grandson of his, his only grandchild, Daeron Targaryen, caused him to protect his legacy.

So the Lion stirred, he had sat past the battles at Summerhall, the indecisive Royalist victory at Ashford, and the consequential siege of Storm's End. But his goodson's defeat at Stoney Sept would prove the Rebel's downfall.

He did not inform his commanders of this, he would make Aerys piss his pants at the thought of his "servant" betraying him.

* * *

He was eating with dinner with Kevan, Gerion, Tygett, and the rest of his commanders. They were discussing the state of the army, being nearly halfway down the Gold Road.

His thoughts were interrupted by Kevan. "Tywin, for whom do we march? Surely you would not betray Cersei and her husband's family?"

He took a slow sip of his wine. "Word of this must not leave this tent."

His brothers nodded.

"We will defend King's Landing. But not for Aerys, not for Rhaegar, and not for the babe Aegon. But for Daeron and Cersei."

Tygett leaned back in his chair, Gerion let out a sigh of relief, and Kevan looked quizzical. "Even if Aemon managed to destroy the forces of Robert Baratheon's Stormlords, that still leaves the might of the Riverlands, Vale and North. How are we to combat them?"

Tywin was had been considering that very question in the previous days. "Dorne is no doubt sending spears to defend Princess Elia, and the Reach is still loyal."

"If the Fat Flower will not abandon his feast at the walls of Storm's End." Tygett spat. "Mace Tyrell would rather focus his entire army on Stannis Baratheon then rally to his ki…"

A knight interrupted them. "My lord, apologies for the interruption, but we've captured two men, one knows you, he says."

Tywin glared at him. "Very well, my dinner has already been interrupted. Bring them in."

Two young men were ushered into the tent. Once was limping, and had a straw hat on, while the other had a cloak pulled up to mask his face.

"You are you?" Tywin snapped. "Why do you interrupt me so?"

The man in the hat chuckled, and the other man reached for his hood, saying: "I thought you would surely recognize me father." He threw off the hood. Kevan gasped. It was Jaime.

* * *

"I know you weren't marching to the aid of King Aerys. You care too much about your legacy. Cersei is who you are marching for. You care too much about your legacy."

Tywin grunted at his son. They were alone in his tent. "I almost regret allowing Aemon and Cersei's marriage." He admitted. "It would make my decision so much easier."

Jaime understood what he meant, and was shocked. "You would let the whole royal family die, even the little children, just so you could raise our family higher." He slammed his fist on the table. "Even if it meant going against me, your son?" He rose, glaring at his father.

Tywin gave him a cold stare. "Are you saying you would choose Aerys, over me?"

"That is a question I will ask myself until my dying day."

* * *

Jaime found Aemon in a tent plastered with the seashells of House Westerling, no doubt Lord Gawen had leaped at the chance to curry favor with the Prince. A maester was applying a salve to Aemon's wounds, satisfied that the Prince was free from infection the maester left them.

"Jaime!" Exclaimed the Prince, throwing on a black shirt with the badge of House Banefort stitched over the heart. "Do you like my new wardrobe? I have had Lords climbing over one another to keep me clothed."

"So they would. You are a Prince of the blood, you deserve as much."

Aemon poured two goblets of wine, handing one to Jaime. "I see your father found you some armor." Jaime was clad with red armor detailed with golden lions, his white cloak had been cleaned, and his sword sharpened. "It's a shame we had to leave what we brought with us, but what other way to remember the debt I owe the Thatchers, Seven bless them."

They had also left the gold Jaime had brought with them as a way to repay the elderly couple.

"How close do you think we are to King's Landing?" Aemon then asked.

"Three days, my father thinks, but we can ride ahead if you wish."

"No, I should be seen with Lord Tywin, coming to their aid. Do we know if Rhaegar has met Baratheon in battle?"

"No, we only know that he left the capital about five days ago." Aemon's elder brother had finally emerged from the South, marching with ten thousand Dornish spears.

"I believe Rhaegar can beat the rebels, he'll have Ser Barristan and Prince Lewyn. Though the Dornish must be furious with him, though only time will tell." Aemon set down his glass, and placed a hand on Jaime's shoulder. The violet eyes met the emerald. "You still have the banner?"

"Yes." Aemon's force had borne a black banner, with a three headed dragon. The fringe of the banner was made up of thread alternating between orange, yellow, and red, with the words _Fire and Blood_ stitched into the cloth. Jaime had managed to recover it after Stoney Sept.

"I wish for you to bear it before us as we march. I do not doubt your father was torn over his decision, what with the insult my father has dealt him in the past. It would be good for him, and every person we pass, to know that the Lannister's support the crown." Tywin had announced this after Aemon's identity was revealed, the surprise ruined.

"I will bear it with honor, as a brother of the King's Guard, and as your friend." Jaime responded.

"Good"

* * *

 _ **Five Days Later**_

 **-King's Landing-**

The men of the West had arrived at the site of Aegon's Landing, bright banners flowing in the breeze. But no Lion, Boar, Badger, or Hooded man flew before the Dragon. The banner of House Targaryen was borne by a man with a flowing white cloak, on a shining white stallion.

Before them lay the city, but the army became encamped between the roads from the Lion gate and the King's gate. The force of the Westerlands counted about forty thousand men.

Aemon had no eyes for this however. Through the Lion Gate he rode, Ser Jaime and Lord Tywin in tow. Through the winding streets of his home, until he emerged before the gates of the Red Keep. They clattered through the archway and dismounted in the inner yard.

There she was. Resplendent in a red dress with black detail. They came together in a tight embrace, Aemon was determined to never let go of her.

" _Never_ leave me again." She ordered him.

Aemon laughed. "I will not, I missed you too much my lady." A look of despair came over his face. "I am afraid I lost your favor on the field."

She slapped his arm lightly. "I will just make another one. It was just some rag. Now come, there is someone I want you to meet."

She led him over to where a nurse waited with a small bundle. Cersei took the bundle and offered it to Aemon. "Meet Daeron Targaryen, your son."

Aemon gazed deeply down at the babe in his arms. His son opened his eyes sleepily, as deep a violet as his. He felt a tear drip down his cheek as he held his son for the first time. His own flesh and blood.

Daeron yawned. The babe was already bored with him. This gave him a laugh from Aemon. "He's already bored with me!" He exclaimed to Cersei.

"He might just be tired. Let me take him." She adjusted her grip on the bundle. "The nursery is where it has always been, right around the passage from our chambers in Maego…" He cupped his hands on her face and kissed her.

"I can not thank you enough for giving me a son." He told her.

"It was not a burden, the reward is enough."

At was at this point that Aemon heard someone whisper. "Now." They said. He then heard the padding of small feet before a small child collided with him with a _thud_.

"Uncle Emmy!" His three year old niece, Rhaenys, exclaimed as she attempted to wrap her small arms around his legs. "Uncle Emmy! You're back!"

"Yes I am! I had to see my favorite little girl." He scooped the small child into his arms, kissing her on the forehead. He shifted her onto a single arm as her mother approached. Elia Martell hugged her good brother, he was one of the few people in court who truly liked her after all.

Aemon turned to Rhaenys again. "How big is Balerion?" He had been the one to give her the black kitten. "Can he fit an elephant in his mouth yet?"

The little girl giggled. "No, he's still little!"

Aemon pretended to look disappointed, then excited. "Can he breathe fire?"

Rhaenys giggled again. "No, silly! He's a cat, not a dragon!"

Aemon pretended to look confused. As he set her down again he asked her another question. "Are you sure?"

Elia took Rhaenys hand before she delivered a retort. "Maybe we should go make sure. Right Rhaenys?" The little girl agreed and they departed into the keep.

The only other brother of the King's Guard in the city, Ser Jonothor Darry, approached him then. "Your Grace, welcome back to the Capital."

"Thank you, Ser Jonothor, it is good to be home again with my wife and child."

The knight's smile disappeared. "I regret to disrupt your reunion, but your father, the King, requests your presence in the throne room."

Aemon turned to the party that was with him, all formidable Lords and Knights. His hand drifted to the sword at his side.

"Very well, we must not keep my father waiting."

* * *

 _Another chapter done, and I hope I addressed Aemon and Cersei's relationship as well as I think I did, and I think I did an even better job with Aemon and Rhaenys._

 _Now, you're probably thinking, "Will, I'm gonna have to call BS on Aemon surviving, there is no way he went through all of that and lived."_

 _To this, I have three reasons for him surviving:_

 _His inner organs weren't damaged as much as they could be._

 _He was wearing a silk shirt underneath. (Look it up if you don't believe me.)_

 _And a simple but sort of effective one: **bLoOd oF tHe dRaGoN**_

 _As always, please leave a review, I always enjoy feedback._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _I cannot apologize enough for the time it has taken me to finish this chapter, due to the fact that I sunk deep into the what would eventually become the next (and hopefully final chapter) of this series. I never intended for this story to be so long, I actually meant for the details of this chapter to be condensed into a flashback, but I felt that would cheat you guys of a story. I hope I performed well enough to repay for the absence, and I swear that I will get the next chapter of this, and Silver Stag out as soon as I possibly can._

* * *

The footsteps of over thirty men echoed off the walls of the Red Keep as the pale white knight led them to the throne room.

"Prince Rhaegar left for the Trident not eight days ago, I've been the only Kingsguard in the Keep, Ser Barristan and Prince Lewyn having left with your brother. I wish I knew where my other brothers and the Lord Commander were, we need them now more than ever."

Aemon was furious when he had heard that three knights of the Kingsguard had disappeared with Rhaegar in the south. "Wherever my Brother has them hiding, he had better have a good reason!" Aemon stated.

Ser Jonothor had an equal view. "Things have not been easy with just myself here. I am grateful for Ser Jaime's return."

They entered the throne room to find his Father on the Iron Throne, surrounded by his pyromancers.

"So! My son returns from the dead, a true Dragon!" His Father called.

Ser Jonothor took his place before the Throne as Aemon advanced. "I have learned a few things over the past weeks. The main lesson was that you are no longer fit to rule. All of this chaos, all of this death, all of it came from you burning Rickard and Brandon Stark!"

He was at the base of the Throne now, Lord Tywin and Jaime were next to Ser Jonothor, while the Crakehalls and Marbrands took the pyromancers into custody.

The King's eyes burned with a fury as violent as wildfire. "Such treachery! From my own blood! I'll have you burned you little cuss! You are no son of mine!"

"You would see an enemy in my son's cradle! No longer shall I let you bring harm to the realm. You truly live to your name, the Mad King!"

He placed a hand on his sword, and Aerys showed fear in his eyes as Aemon strode up the steps of the Iron Throne. His father panicked, and falling back onto the blades forged by Aegon the Conqueror and Balerion the Black Dread, he was pierced in many places, such as Maegor the Cruel.

Thus passed Aerys II, called the Mad King by the Realm.

Aemon declared his Brother Rhaegar as King on the Iron Throne before all the present Lords of the Westerlands, and sent word to Lord Mace Tyrell, who was still laying siege to Storm's End. "The King needs as many men as can be spared." He wrote. "At the least, give me Randyll Tarly. Grant the King this and your daughter and my son shall be wed."

* * *

"After Prince Rhaegar's death, our men broke, either retreating south, or yielding to the Rebels." The new Lord Raymun Darry said.

Sitting on a small chair before the Iron Throne, newly named Protector of the Realm was lost in thought as he heard the report of the Battle of the Trident.

"Lord Robert, he was wounded, yes?" Asked the Old Lion, sitting to Aemon's left.

"Yes my Lord Hand, he is no doubt still recovering, but Lord Stark is alive and well, as are the Lords Arryn and Tully, the reports say."

"Experienced commanders all of them at this point." Said Aemon finally. "The Rebels will not wait, their vanguard will arrive soon."

"They would be foolish to try and fight, Lord Tyrell still sits at Storm's End with his army, and we have a formidable force here. All that remains is for Robert to suffer his second defeat and the Rebellion shall be over." Answered Lord Tywin. "Once the Rebels are defeated, we'll deal with the other Baratheon brothers."

All those present understood what he meant.

"No." Aemon forcefully replied. "I will not have Storm's End be another Castamere. Once this madness ends, I will decide what to do with the Rebels, but one thing is certain, Robert Baratheon must die, whether on the battlefield, or beneath the headsman's axe."

With that, Lord Tywin agreed.

* * *

Within two days, the Direwolf banners of Lord Eddard Stark appeared to the north up the King's Road. Mostly cavalry, they reined in close enough to see the camp of the Royal Army. They withdrew, heading back to the north.

When the whole host arrived, they numbered some thirty five thousand. While many of Robert's Stormlanders had perished in the fighting, he was still able to field a significant force from his bannermen.

When the Rebel Lords were fully assembled, they rode forward to parley with the defenders of the city. The morning river mists had still yet to clear from the field, and as the Rebels were left waiting.

"I'm sick of this, let's attack them and be done with it!" Robert said impatiently.

"Patience Robert." Eddard responded to him. "Lord Tywin will be here soon enough.

"Yes, Eddard is right Robert. We can reason with Tywin, no doubt he's only here to defend his daughter." Jon Arryn gave his input.

"Tywin Lannister, that golden lion is out of his lair, we catch him now, then we'll deal with the Dragonspawn." The Stormlord growled.

"Enough Robert! You cannot think to kill children! You would sink lower than the lowest cutthroa-" Eddard, stopping as they heard the jingle of harnesses. Through the thinning mist, they watched as the Royal Standard of House Targaryen came into view. The leading horseman was a knight of the King's Guard, clad from head to toe in white plate, his head held high as he rode to the side to make way for those behind him.

Then the Dragon rode forth. Clad all in black plate the rider was crowned by a rearing, three-headed, blood red dragon.

Lifting his visor, the high lords were shocked to see Prince Aemon's face.

"I see I surprise you my Lords, now you may surprise me. Put down your swords, bend the knee in the name of King Aegon, let us end the bloodshed."

Lord Robert laughed. "I see Stoney Sept taught you nothing Princeling. We will have peace when a Dragonspawn no longer sits upon the Iron Throne, we will have peace when Lord Rickard and Brandon Stark are avenged, and my Lyanna returned to me."

Prince Aemon was outraged. "You dare speak of vengeance! My father and brother have died, same as Lord Stark, thousands of men have fallen! Did you learn nothing from Stoney Sept? When your bannermen were cut down in the streets and in the fields beyond the walls? Let us have peace my Lord."

The Demon of the Trident laughed again, turning away he said one final barb to Aemon. "I will have peace when you lie dead on this field Princeling. This time, I will make sure it is so."

* * *

 **Aemon**

 _So it begins._

The Rebels had formed up as the last mists dissipated. The leaping trout of the Tullys and the stag of the Baratheons formed the first battle. The horse forming a line before Robert's foot as Lord Arryn did the same to the Stormlord's right. Lord Stark's direwolf marched steadily forward along the walls, the Northern infantry cool and collected after several months of fighting.

The knights of the Vale were pulling ahead, and it seemed that in between the walls of King's Landing and a small line of trees to the west, a great door would smash upon the Royalists. Lord Tywin commanded the right flank, Lord Tarly the left, and Aemon himself led the center, with Jaime bearing the Royal standard.

At the expense of the Crown, all of the Royalist army had been outfitted with black surcoats displaying the red dragon of House Targaryen so as to distinguish friend from foe.

Aemon, his visor lifted, turned to the mixture of Crownlanders and Dornishmen behind him, the remainder of the armies he and Rhaegar had commanded.

"I see it in you eyes." He called to them. They had time, the Royal army would march as one, so as the establish the frontline at a narrower stretch of field where the wall curved outward.

"Fear, uncertainty. The question of whether or not you will see the sunset tonight." He had their attention at least.

"I say to you, put that all from your mind. Think of fonder memories, think of your families, of the women you love. You can be sure I am." With that he lifted his arm to show the crimson favor that Cersei had sewn for him, tied around his upper arm. "I am thinking of her, and my son. I do not plan to miss his life, I do not plan to let him grow up fatherless, I plan for him and my nephew, our King, to grow up never having to fight a war, as all men should."

Sympathetic looks and smiles greeted him from the ranks. "Fight with me today, and I promise you that you will grow old with full bellies and happy hearts, for every man who fights beneath the Dragon today, shall earn one back in gold." Cheers rang at the thought of gold, peace, and plenty.

"But enough of tomorrow, in order for us to reach it, we have to survive today! Onward! Smash Robert and his friends! Onward! For King Aegon! Onward!" The response was a resounding shout of " _Aegon! Onward for Aegon!"_ and also from the Dornishmen " _Onward for Elia!"_

He galloped before the army, Jaime right behind him, and drawing his sword, took off the scabbard from his belt, and threw it to the side.

" _Gods be with us, men! Onward!"_ Pointing his sword toward the Rebels who had already started at a trot. As he slammed down his visor, he heard horns ringing behind him. As the captains called the advance, he was once more overcome with pride as his men shouted " _Onward!"_

* * *

 **Jon**

The Knights of the Vale were at a full gallop, the speed making the proud falcon and moon banners snap wildly. _This is the way to die. Like a knight_. _A proud Arryn of the Vale._ The lines of the Reachmen were fast approaching, the red huntsman of Horn Hill standing proud as the infantry formed rank, the front dropping to a knee as the ground beneath their feet shook violently. The men were reaching down to their feet to grab something, and he could barely see a glint of metal.

 _No, not pikes, anything but._ They had waited to move until the entire force of Valemen was nearly upon them, at full gallop, it was already too late.

The hammerblow crashed against the wall of pikes before him, and so the proud might that was the chivalry of the Vale was stopped, for no better disciplined soldiers could be found anywhere in Westeros than beneath the Tarly's of Horn Hill. For every knight there was a pike, and the swords of the footmen dispatched any who might stumble disoriented toward them.

He lifted his visor as those who had not yet reached the wall of death reined in their warhorses. His mind worked like a bolt of lightning. "To the flanks!" He cried. "It's a trap! Push the flanks or dismount and attack on foot!"

Yohn Royce led men to break their left, while Ser Lyn Corbray led men to the right. At his command, the men at the center were dismounting and charging the Reachmen. To the east, he watched as Robert's horse met with Prince Aemon's, and after a moment, the proud standard of the Dragon Kings disappeared from view, but not for long, as the stark white clad knight that had borne it held it aloft again.

"Push them back!" He cried as he dismounted. He closed his visor and trudged forward to join in the melee. They were hacking at the pikemen, and the Lords Redfort and Hunter were charging forward with the infantry, breaking into a run at the sound of horns braying. The Reachmen's line was buckling, and they started to run, the knights forcing them into a rout.

Hacking and slashing, the grass was red with blood as the pikemen fled, but there was another line waiting a few yards behind them. _By the Gods, longbowmen, another trap._

"The Gods and King Aegon!" The cry went up as hundreds of arrow soared across the gap, tearing through the pride of the Vale's chivalry. One glanced off his helmet, and another found his shield, but others were not so fortunate. Cries and groans filled the air as the arrows found their marks. The ranks of knights crumpled as their comrades continued to push forward.

"Only a bit further lads! Let's get 'em!" One hedge knight shouted to the others as he charged forward. The longbowmen let loose another volley before falling behind their comrades who were already forming a shieldwall to meet the oncoming storm of steel.

Jon felt a jarring impact in his right shoulder, and saw that an arrow had pierced just below his pauldron. He clutched it with his left hand as the pain set in and the Valemen surged forward, the infantry having joined them now, and they were pressing against the Tarly shieldwall.

The enemy seemed to be straining, and the blood of the Valemen was up, causing them to hammer blow after blow against the Royalist lines. The minds of many of the Rebels was clouded with primal instincts of killing, and almost none of them heard the sounds of horns to the west, as a great host of knights broke from the treeline, coming toward them at a gallop, under the banner of the red huntsman that would haunt them so.

 _Gods be good._

* * *

 **Aemon**

 _Where am I? Better yet, where is my sword?_

The world was chaos around him, as mounted men continued to gallop into the fray. His horse had been killed outright to a lance that went all the way through it neck, luckily glancing off his right cuisse before sending him tumbling to the ground, his sword flying from his hand.

The narrow eye slits revealed a man with the colors of House Fell running straight towards him. "Targaryen bastard!" He cried as he raised an axe to strike at the Prince.

Aemon lunged forward, catching the man's forearm with his right hand, while plunging his dagger through his throat with the left. The Fell man-at-arms gurgled blood as he collapsed to the ground.

Another man looked to strike at him, but was crushed beneath a falling horse, a spear in it's belly. Aemon stumbled over a body at his feet, and before him, he saw the ruby embedded into the pommel of his longsword. Grabbing it, he had just enough time to deflect an incoming sword before jamming his dagger into the eyeslit of his attacker's greathelm.

The man died screaming, and Aemon waved his men forward. "Drive them back!" He cried. "Onward! Onward!"

The next moments passed in a blurr, the hacking and slashing of the brutal combat turned the grass as red as the dragon on his surcoat. Soon he was reunited with Jaime, who still held the banner in his left hand, quickly dispatching a man-at-arms. The Young Lion's white cloak was so stained with blood that it was a deep red at some points, and a light pink at others.

The Royalists seemed to be winning the upper hand, with the Stormlanders being pushed steadily back. The sight of the Dragon Prince and the Young Lion cutting down any who stood against them inspired the other knights and soldiers with newfound fury.

Aemon was where the fighting was thickest, the roar of combat all around him as he sliced and stabbed away. His next foe charged him, but a man-at-arms rammed into him with his shield, sending both tumbling to the ground. A cry began to ring in his ears.

"To your Lord! To your Lord! Rally to Lord Robert!"

Another man fell to Aemon's blade as he pushed forward. He found himself face to face with Robert Baratheon, the bane of his family. The Stormlord had a visorless bascinet with great iron antlers protruding from it. He was in plate, same as the man next to him, dressed in the blue and red of House Tully, the Blackfish had lost his helm, a few grey hairs poking out from beneath his coif.

"TARGARYEN!" Robert cried as he threw aside a charging Dornishman. He held his great warhammer. _That is the hammer that killed Rhaegar._ Aemon thought to himself.

"Baratheon! You bastard!" He felt his blood surge with rage as he stepped toward his foe. _I am the Blood of the Dragon. I have cheated death. He has tried before, let him try again._

The two men, Rebel Lord and Prince of Summerhall, with a great cry, charged each other with the fury of wild beasts.

* * *

 **Eddard**

 _The line is faltering._ The Northmen had faced stiff resistance from the Westermen, Lord Tywins's shield had held back the charge of his bannermen but even they were beginning to lose ground. _None can withstand the might of the Greatjon_. The mighty lord of Last Hearth had been wearing them down as he pressed forward.

"Erik!" He cried to his hornman.

"My Lord?" The young man answered, a quiver in his voice.

"Give the signal to Lord Mormont, Dustin, and Manderly." If the two lords commanding his cavalry could add more pressure to the line, they and the Umbers might be able to break it.

"Aye my Lord" The lad blew three mournful blasts on his horn, his powerful lungs had been the reason he had been given his position after all.

A tremble shook the earth as the Northern cavalry galloped toward the Westermen, eager to join the fight. The Mormonts and Dustins attacked to the right, as the heavy knights of White Harbor attacked the left.

Eddard watched as they charged, and the Lannister line buckled as they received the brutal force. Within moments, the Umbers had broken through, and the Northerners surged forward, screaming like mad men.

The charged was cutting through the Westermen quickly, but slowed as Robert's force began to break and run. He knew not what happened but the Stormlanders retreated, the Northmen looked to be about to follow, and the Lannister's found new heart, and before he knew what exactly had happened, he had tripped. Falling to the ground, he looked up to find a sword in his face.

"Lord Stark, I am Ser Kevan Lannister, yield now and I give you my word that I will see you safe to the rear." The knight with the red dragon on his surcoat said to him. The dragon seemed to be mocking him.

"Very well, I yield."

* * *

 **Aemon**

They clashed, and Aemon dodged to the side as the warhammer swung in it's murderous arc, narrowly missing him. He followed with a slash to Robert's breast plate, although it did not pierce, it did decapitate the stag on Robert's surcoat. They went about this, Aemon avoiding Robert's swings, and cutting in quickly where ever he could. Once Robert stumbled over a dead man's arm, and Aemon cut a part of his exposed side, but the warhammer landed near his feet a few moments later when he was knocked forward by a dueling Ser Brynden and Jaime.

The fighting continued, and Aemon was getting the upper hand. Robert was tiring, and after he swung the warhammer too slowly, Aemon lunged with his sword a little too carelessly, but his blade deflected off of his foe's stop bar. His arrogance made him pay, as Robert shoved him back with the shaft of his hammer, causing Aemon to slip in a puddle of blood. He lost the grip of his sword, but the worst was to come as Robert mustered a last burst of strength, and smashed a clumsy blow into Aemon side.

The Prince fell to the ground on his back. The wind knocked out of him. The blow had been glancing, but he could still feel a few broken ribs.

Soon he saw a familiar horned head looking over him.

"You cheated me at Stoney Sept, I'll give you that. But there's no escaping this time." Robert leered at him.

His face went in and out of focus as he went on. Soon he was not the only face he saw. His Father, his Mother, little Viserys at her skirts, Rhaegar and Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon, even Cersei and Daeron. His Father looked to be as he was when Aemon was little, full of excitement and aspiration. " _You are a Targaryen, the blood of the Conqueror flows in your veins. This is no place for you to die, my son."_

" _I have already lost you once, I cannot bear to lose you again."_ His Mother softly stated.

Rhaegar spoke next. " _Finish this Brother. Do what I could not. Kill the traitor, kill him!"_ The lack of the calm and collected nature seemed to do even more to stress his tone.

" _Cut off the head of the viper, kill him, and victory will be yours."_ Elia said to him.

Cersei was the last to speak. " _Come back to me."_

"It was a good fight Dragon Prince, but there can only be one winner, prepare to meet the Stranger." Robert said as he raised his hammer for the killing blow. As he prepared to swing in a crushing downward motion, Aemon sprung.

He flung a fistful of dirt into the Rebel's eyes with his left hand, then, mustering all his available strength, rose to his feet, and removing the bloody dagger from his belt, drove it into the gaps of Robert's faulds, straight into his manhood.

Aemon twisted the dagger, causing Robert to howl. Off balance, the hammer dragged Robert down to the ground. Falling on top of him, Aemon withdrew the dagger, and drove it into his throat, ripping it open. He bent down to his ear as Robert's golden surcoat turned the color of the proud Dragon on Aemon's.

"You first."

The only answer was barely a whisper. " _Lyanna"_

It was done and Aemon struggled to his feet to see a shocked crowd staring at him, including Jaime, who had just forced the Blackfish to his knees.

"It is done." He said, before passing from consciousness

* * *

He woke two days later in his bed.

He recognized the furnishings of his chamber, the light piercing the large windows over the bed, bringing light to the room.

Seeing as though there was a bandage wrapped around his aching left arm, he pushed himself off the be with his right, wincing as the pain in his ribs set in. He got to his feet and walked, barefoot, to the door.

He found his wife holding their son while her brother sat close to her, his back to Aemon as he looked out through open balcony, lost in thought as she sang softly.

Aemon stepped to the side, quietly pouring some wine into a goblet.

"The Mother gives the gift of life, and watches over every wife. Her gentle smile ends all strife, and she loves her little children."

Setting down the pitcher, he walked toward them. "What a lovely voice you have." He said to her:

She started, and Jaime stirred from his pondering, quickly turning to face him, a smile already on his face.

"Aemon!" The Young Lion said as he rose from his seat. He soon found himself in charge of his nephew as his sister rushed to her husband. She kissed him full on the lips as they embraced, Aemon ignoring the pain in his abdomen.

Once she released him, Jaime gave him a crushing hug. This time, Aemon could not ignore the pain. " _Ribs"_ He gasped before Jaime released him with a "Sorry."

They sat back down, Aemon and Cersei on the sofa with Daeron, while Jaime returned to his seat. Aemon immediately pressed Jaime for details of the battle. "What happened on the flanks?"

"Jon Arryn is dead. Three arrows didn't kill him, but being crushed beneath a horse did. Lord Royce has been appointed Warden of the East until some distant relation of Lord Jon's, some Hardyng boy, Harrold, I think his name is, comes of age. Lord Tarly dueled Lyn Corbray. I would have liked to see that. Tarly won of course, great big man like that, how do you expect to beat him? Tarly ransomed _Lady Forlorn_ back to the Corbrays, and the Dornishmen seem happy that Prince Lewyn's death is avenged."

Aemon nodded along as he sipped his wine. "Lewyn was a good man, and true. A fine knight."

"On the right, Eddard Stark seemed to break into my Father's ranks, and would have done them in, if the Stormlanders hadn't fled at Robert's death. His knights from White Harbor smashed into the right, and killed Lord Sumner Crakehall, he was a great man to squire for, I'll miss him. The only heavy resistance was led by the heavy infantry of Ser Gregor Clegane, but the Mountain was killed by the Greatjon Umber. Lord Mormont lost his horse in the charge on the left to a Dornish spear and was captured. The counterattack by the Westermen led to the capture of Eddard Stark by my Uncle Kevan."

"Lord Tytos Blackwood assaulted the Gate of the Gods, while Lord Jonos Bracken assaulted the Old Gate. Lord Blackwood made good progress, but Lord Bracken was smashed against the gates by my Lord Father's cavalry led by Lords Marbrand, Lydden, and Westerling, who sallied out of the Iron Gate."

Daeron gurgled as his Father passed him off to his Mother. Aemon stood up, setting his goblet down as he rose. "It seems that I have much to deal with. Am I right to believe that Stannis Baratheon is still under siege?"

Cersei spoke then. "He will not listen to my Father's messengers it seems. Lord Stark offered to speak to him, but Father will not let him."

"It is decided then. I will take Lord Stark south with me to Storm's End, once Stannis bends the knee, we'll call a Great Council and end this madness."

* * *

The Red Mountains proved to be far hotter on the Dornish side, every step causing more beads of sweat to run down the men's faces. Not Aemon though, he was dressed in the black of his House, and he seemed to be flaunting it.

"What a lovely day we are having! You couldn't ask for finer weather!" He declared, a smile on his face.

"Stop your blathering you prick! I bet you couldn't survive a day in the North!" Theo Wull spat at him, before mopping more sweat from his brow.

"I'd like to see you sweat up a river smaller than the Mand-" Aemon began, but was stopped by Howland Reed ahead.

"The Tower is just up ahead. They seem to be waiting for something." He said.

"Someone, I think. Well, let's not keep them waiting." Aemon said as he spurred forward.

The tower stood alone, guarded by three shining knights, all in white plate. The men with Aemon were lightly armored due to their journey through the blistering heat. They stopped right before the tower, and the knights stepped forward to meet them as they dismounted.

"Sers, I must say, your absence has been most disappointing." Aemon began.

"Our Prince wanted us here." Said Ser Gerold Hightower.

"Your King needed you in the capital, where were you when I marched on Stoney Sept? Where were you when Rhaegar fell at the Trident, where were you when I slew Robert before the walls of King's Landing?

"We took a vow." Ser Arthur stated.

Lord Stark inserted himself angrily into the conversation. "Where is my sister!? I know Rhaegar had you guard her here!"

A cry pierced the air. The men looked up toward the Tower. The knights sidled to the side to make an opening. Lord Stark pushed past them, Aemon close behind. They found a midwife scrambling to provide aid to the woman lying in the bed. "Lyanna!" Stark cried as he rushed to her side.

"My sweet Ned..." She said, her hand cupping his face. "I'm so sorry..."

"There's nothing for you to apologize for, Lyanna. I'm here now." He said to her, a tear running down his cheek.

"Look after him Ned, look after my little boy. Rhaegar wanted a Visenya, but he got a boy instead...he looks like you, he looks like a Stark."

The midwife came forward with her son. The little boy with a tuft of dark hair was placed against Lyanna's breast.

"I named him Jon" She said, weaker this time, all the time smiling at the little boy. "After one of the Kings in the North I remember Maester Walys teaching us about."

Eddard's eyes began to glisten. "A fine name, for a fine boy." Aemon called out to her.

She turned her head toward the Prince. "Aemon, his other Uncle. Promise me...promise me that you will look after him...I don't want him to be a bastard."

Aemon kneeled next to the dying woman, and took her hand. "I promise. He will be a Prince of House Targaryen. He is a Prince. The Prince of Dragonstone. Heir apparent to the Iron Throne. He will be trained as a knight and a Prince, he will know Dragonstone well, but so shall he know Winterfell...this I promise."

"Good, he will need the two of you…" She smiled wider and slowly, her eyes began to close.

"Lyanna...Lyanna!" Eddard said as his sister passed from the earth.

* * *

They returned to King's Landing by the next moon's turn, soon to be joined by the Lords Paramount of the Realm.

Tywin Lannister had already sunk into the work of his office, and the realm was beginning to return to a state of normality. The Queen Regent had ensured to preserve Targaryen power in court however, as Jon Connington was welcomed back to Westeros to take the post of Master of Laws, in order to guide the son of his best friend.

Soon the Lords had gathered, and around a great table in the throne room of the Red Keep, they discussed how the realm would find peace.

The Hand had wanted the Rebel lords to all surrender a hostage to the Crown, incase they should ever rise again. This had been struck down by Aemon, who claimed that enough sons and daughters had been taken by the war.

"However," He said. "There are marriages to be arranged."

" _Ahem_ , Your Grace did promise a Prince for my Daughter." Said Lord Tyrell, attempting to not meet the glare of the new Lord Baratheon.

"That I did, and I assure you, when they are of an appropriate age, Daeron and Margaery shall wed. But there are other marriages to look to." Aemon answered. "Lord Baratheon?"

Lord Stannis ground his teeth as he turned to him. "What of me?"

"You are unwed, with only your brother as your heir." Lord Tywin called. "Lord Tyrell happens to have a sister who is also unwed, the Lady Janna, I believe."

A fire blazed in the Stormlord's eyes. "A Tyrell!? As if I have not been insulted enough by the oaf, feasting outside my walls!"

Before Lord Tyrell could summon a retort, Aemon had pounded his fist on the table. "I will not have bickering! The war is over! The realm needs peace. We all have a duty to perform to the realm."

The glare became fixed on Aemon for a few silent moments before the Lord of Storm's End reclined back into his chair. "Fine, so be it."

Aemon bowed his head in respect to the Lord. "Thank you my Lord, you will be wed as soon as the Lady arrives from Highgarden."

"I have a daughter, Lysa," Lord Tully inputted. "She was widowed when Lord Arryn fell, his child died in her womb, but she has since recovered."

"A fair point my Lord, perhaps there is another of our number who would fill the role of the Lady's husband?" Aemon said, turning this time to Lord Tywin.

"I have a son already." The Hand replied.

"Ser Jaime is a sworn brother of the King's Guard, sworn to inherit no lands, he has his own duty to the realm, and I am sure Tyrion will perform his duties as lord of Casterly Rock as well as any." Aemon responded, never breaking the Old Lion's gaze.

"Very well." His Good-father did not break the gaze even to agree to Lord Tully's proposal, but Aemon went on to the next matter.

"My nephew will need a Queen, and other bonds must be forged, I shall not watch Westeros tear itself apart again. We can discuss such alliances at a later date of course, but do not doubt their importance." The assembled Lords nodded their agreement, Lord Baratheon grinding his teeth at Lord Tyrell.

"Look to your lands, my Lords. For the realm is weary, and we should look to our harvests. Until we meet again, I wish you all well, Gods willing."

With that, the Lords departed, leaving Aemon alone with the Iron Throne. Gazing upon the hulking mass of melted steel, he finally said aloud what he had been thinking since his departure to Stoney Sept.

"How can this be the most coveted thing in all the realm, This piece of junk made by my Forebear?"

* * *

 _That's it for now, please feel free to review, because that's what makes me the happiest when it comes to my writing. I hope I didn't disappoint._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _Damn. This took me FOREVER. I'm glad I finally finished this chapter, but I still have yet to finish the story. For anyone wondering about Silver Stag, I dug myself a hole, but I'm working to get out of it. I hope you enjoy it, and as always, please leave a review!_

* * *

 **King's Landing**

The streets were crowded as the Prince of Summerhall stopped outside of Chataya's brothel. Three knights were behind him, covered in white enamel plate. One had hair as black as night, another as white as snow, and the last had the mane of a lion. The Prince led them into the building, emerging into the common room.

"Welcome my Lords, to what do I owe this... _pleasure_?" Chataya, the owner of the brothel said as she approached them.

The Prince turned toward the Summer Islander. "You know why I am here, where are they?" He demanded.

Chataya's smile melted away. She pointed out three distinct rooms. "They are just behind those doors, I shall unlock them for you."

The Prince motioned for the knights to wait in the common area as he went through the door on the right.

It was a small room, and in the center was a single bed, where both a young man and a young whore were reading.

He had brown hair down to his shoulders and a long face, with a lean and muscular build, while she had pale white skin and long white-gold hair.

Upon noticing the Prince, the young man's eyes widened in surprise. "Uncle Aemon! What are you doing here?" He asked.

Prince Aemon remained stoic. "I thought better of you Jon, you disappoint me."

The whore spoke up then. "We did nothing your Grace, we were just reading!"

Aemon's eyes shone like bright amethysts as he glared at the whore. "I never knew a whore that could read."

The girl cocked her head to one side. "Have you met many whores my Lord?"

"I'm a soldier, _girl_ , I have seen plenty of camp followers in my day. Leave us."

She rushed out of the room, stopping at the door to look back at them.

Jon spoke up. "I'm sorry Uncle, I only came along to watch over the-"

Aemon held up a hand, silencing him. "You will be silent, I will have words with you later."

He strode from the room, moving through the next door. Inside, he found a second young man in bed. He had pale gold hair, and had his arm wrapped around a girl with long red hair. Both were asleep. Aemon shook his head before leaving the room.

"Ser Jaime, if you would be so kind as to fetch a bucket of water." He said to one of the Kingsguard knights before going through the third door. The Knight smiled, before leaving to find a well.

On this bed, there was a whore lying down on her back as a young man thrust repeatedly into her. The young man in question had silvery hair that hung down below his shoulders, usually braided, it now hung freely down his back.

Aemon strode slowly, making no noise, as the two drew to the end of their love making. He stopped right over them looking down, only to meet the eyes of the whore, who let out a squeal. The young man quickly turned around, collapsing down onto the bed. "Uncle!?" He cried.

"Dress yourself and wait outside." Came the cold answer.

He swept away, and seeing that his good brother had returned with the bucket of water, led him into the second room.

The two on the bed were still asleep, and at a nod from Aemon, Jaime emptied the bucket onto them.

The effect was instantaneous, Aemon's son and his whore sputtered, before Daeron reached for the sword he had placed beside the bed, only to discover it was gone. He turned around to see it in his Father's hands. It was at this moment that Daeron knew he was doomed.

His father had a look of great distaste on his face as he looked upon his first son, but he said nothing as he turned and left the room. Daeron looked to his Uncle Jaime, but found no mercy.

"Clothe yourself, meet us outside" he said as he too left.

* * *

The three boys rode in silence back to the Red Keep. They maintained their silence as they were brought to Aemon's solar. It was the very one used by Jaehaerys the Conciliator and Daeron the Good, making it ideal for his reign as Protector of the Realm.

Aemon sat down in his chair and held his head in his hands as Ser Jaime closed the door.

The three boys had reacted very differently at their situation, Jon too had his head in his hands as he stared at the floor, Aegon was staring off into space as he rested his chin on his fist, but Daeron was staring straight at his Father. His wet pale gold hair still clung to his face, but the same strong face he had inherited from his Father remained fixed in a look of defiance.

Prince Aemon had yet to have grey appear in his silver hair and beard, both of which he kept short. He wore the black and red of his House, and his badge of office, a steel pin in the likeness of a shield kept his cloak together.

Aemon broke the silence first. "Why do the Gods punish me so?"

No response came.

"One more turn of the moon, and I will be free, no more ruling, save for Summerhall. Yet I feel like I am abandoning the throne I fought to protect so a fool could sit on it. A Kingdom of fools it will be, a fool on the Iron Throne, a fool in Summerhall, and a fool on Dragonstone."

Daeron spoke then. "We made Jon come, he did not want to. We thought it would be go-"

"SILENCE!" His Father roared. Aemon was not considered a tall man, but after ruling the realm for nigh on seventeen years and fighting in two wars had given him an aura that made him seem to radiate power. He walked to face the bay windows looking over Blackwater Bay, deep in thought, within seconds he had thought of their punishment.

Turning back to them he said to them in a voice that left nothing open to argument. "We leave for Summerhall in two days, you will have your hair cut short and shave, I will not have you looking the way you do when you entertain so many Lords and Ladies of the Realm. You will also beg forgiveness from your Mothers, Jon, you will go with Daeron to Cersei. This will happen. Out with you, and remember, if you do not follow my commands, you will wish I died at Stoney Sept."

The boys left, and Jaime came into the room as Aemon sank once more into his chair.

"What did I do to deserve this?" Aemon asked his oldest friend.

"They are young men, barely out of boyhood, they want to live a little before duty calls them."

"My duty called me at their age! So did yours! They are lucky, they have had no wars to fight! The man sitting the Iron Throne is not mad! I envy their youth, with their lives of peace."

Several moments passed before Jaime spoke to him again. "Whose idea do you think it was to leave Theon and the Hound behind to cover their tracks?"

Aemon scoffed. "Daeron. He has his Grandfather's brains that one, but not so clever as to take a lesser known brothel though."

Jaime laughed as he poured Aemon and himself a goblet of wine.

"Tomorrow in the yard, I want the Hound to beat them bloody."

Sandor Clegane had been a name day gift from Daeron's grandfather Tywin, who had wanted his legacy protected by such a fierce warrior. The massive man respected his charge, but would still take orders only from the Lord Protector.

"I'll see it done." Jaime said with his signature smirk.

* * *

 **Summerhall**

"A little higher there...a little more...that's it. Fine work, all of you." The workers descended from their ladders as Jaehaerys' Father came into the entrance hall. Looking up at the arrayed banners of the great houses attending the tourney, the Prince shook his head.

"That will not do, place Tyrell across from Tully, and Martell across from Arryn. I will not have Lord Tyrell deafening me with his complaints all throughout his stay." Aemon said.

Jaehaerys nodded. "Very well, you heard him, back up the ladders!"

All of Summerhall had been decorated in the colors of House Targaryen, with Prince Aemon sparing no expense to herald in the new age of the Targaryen dynasty.

Aemon's children would play principal parts in the weddings and tournament that would follow. Daeron marriage would begin the festivities, then the Tournament, which would feature his sons Daeron and Jaehaerys. Rhaella and Baelor were not yet of age to marry or compete in combat, but they would still be involved in hosting the many guests.

* * *

"Why do we have to wait out here again?" Daeron asked.

Jon sighed. His cousin hated to sit still for too long, and longed to ride out into the surrounding countryside instead of waiting along the road. "You heard your Father, the Starks are coming today with the Tullys, the Baratheons, the Tyrells, and the Martells tomorrow."

"But why us? Why must two Princes wait out here for so long?" Daeron asked.

"Three!" Baelor gave his input. "Three Princes!"

Jon laughed, and Daeron turned to his youngest brother. "Keep your eyes on the road, and hold the banner straight, that's Father's war banner, make it look proud. "

Baelor smiled and did as Daeron bid.

"So what are the Starks like?" Daeron asked.

"You'll like Robb, he likes a good laugh, but like Uncle Ned, he tries to do what is right. Sansa has dreamed of coming south for years, she's beautiful and the perfect Lady, like her mother, and I think Aegon will love her at once. Arya is wild, she'll probably end up challenging you to a duel by the end of this. She's the only one with hair like Uncle Ned, all the rest have Aunt Cat's Tully red. Bran too has dreams of coming south, he wants to be one of the King's Guard. Rickon is young, but he too is wild. All of them have direwolves of course, but I don't know if they will have brought them."

Daeron chuckled at the thought of being challenged to a duel by a little girl. "I look forward to meeting them."

They chatted like they had been doing for near on half an hour before Baelor once more called to them. "I see banners!"

The other boys perked at this. "What sigils do you see?" Daeron called as he and Jon remounted their horses.

"White banners, with something grey, that would be Stark? Also, blue and red, that must be Lord Tully,and a black banner with what looks like a sun!" Said Baelor.

"House Karstark" Responded Jon. "Lord Eddard has brought along his bannermen."

And so he had. The great column was massive, for it seemed that all the North and Riverlands had travelled south to witness the tournament to celebrate Daeron's marriage, as well as Aegon's formal coronation, which would follow. Karstarks, Glovers, Umbers, Freys, Blackwoods, and Brackens had all come to Summerhall. Accompanying them was the Prince of Pennytree, Viserys Targaryen, with his banners bearing the three dragons.

Soon Jon's family was approaching, led by his Uncle Ned and the young Lord Tully.

Jon and Daeron spurred their horses forward and hailed them.

"Welcome, Lord Stark and Lord Tully, Prince Aemon hopes your journey was swift and without difficulty." Jon said.

Eddard Stark smiled at his nephew. "Our journey was worth it, if all that I hear about the tourney is true."

"It is, my Lord." Daeron inputted. "My Father has taken much from his own coffers to make sure it is one for the ages. The camp is already the size of Summerhall itself, and we have yet to receive all of our guests."

Lord Stark nodded along, and Lord Tully smiled. "You look just like your Father when we were young." Lord Eddard said to Daeron, who seemed to stand taller at the praise. "No doubt you will be as great a warrior as he was. Allow me to introduce you to my family. My wife, Lady Catelyn, my sons, Robb, Bran, and Rickon, as well as my daughters, Sansa and Arya."

The respective Starks were introduced to Daeron, who used all the manners, poise, and grace he had learned from his Mother. When he shook Robb's hand, he grinned and said "I expect a great challenge from you." and to Sansa, he said "We shall have had no finer Queen in all my House's history my Lady." to which she blushed.

Lord Edmure came forth at this point. "Allow me to introduce myself, my Lady wife, Arriane, and my Uncle, Ser Brynden."

After meeting the Tullys, Daeron said to Ser Brynden, "Expect a barrage of questions from my Brother, he has dreams of Knighthood, and he has pressured our Grandfather and Ser Barristan for stories of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, you are no doubt next."

Turning to all of them, he said "You know my cousin Jon, and now you know me, but my youngest Brother, Baelor, is the one bearing our banner."

Their, introductions made, they made the rest of the journey to Summerhall, where Lord Eddard and Lord Edmure immediately went to meet with Prince Aemon in his solar.

* * *

All of the Lords and their bannermen had arrived. So had half the hedge knights in the realms it had seemed.

Lord Stannis Baratheon had arrived with his Stormlords the morning after the Starks arrived. He was accompanied by his sons Edric, Ormund, and Tommard, as well as his wife Janna Tyrell, his daughter Shireen, and his brother Renly. He had been courteous enough to the Princes, but upon Baelor seeing Mace Tyrell's banners approaching, he had spurred ahead.

"There is only one Tyrell I will abide by." He said to them before riding off.

Lord Tyrell had been very amiable toward the Princes, especially his future good-son. Willas, Garlan, and Loras they met, but then the door to the massive wheelhouse opened. Out came Lady Alerie, Lady Leonette, and Lady Margaery.

Upon seeing his betrothed, Daeron bowed deeply and made to kiss her hand, but barely brushed her with his lips.

"You seem to have missed your Grace." She said. "I hope your aim with a lance is better."

Daeron flashed a smile, and Jon, knowing what was coming, rolled his eyes. "I pray that at the lists, I will not be blinded by your radiance as I was today."

Lady Margaery blushed as Daeron bowed again.

"The Martells!" Cried Baelor, not noticing the anger on Lord Mace's face. "Uncle Oberyn is coming!"

The Targaryens of Summerhall had a great relationship with their Dornish cousins, but their Aunt Elia had always treated Jon with scorn. She had been furious when Aemon had first brought home Jon and named him Prince of Dragonstone, heir to the throne should Aegon die. The Red Viper evidently felt the same, as he glared at the Prince. Jon returned the glare with eyes as cold as ice. Once Daeron finished exchanging pleasantries, the Dornish galloped off, leaving only the arrival of the Westermen and the Lords of the Vale.

* * *

The first day of the tournament had begun, with the champions taking their places in front of their respective pavilions. Prince Daeron and Prince Jaehaerys, their banners bearing the double Dragons, and the King's Guard Knights, Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Jaime Lannister, and Ser Richard Horpe, all of them clad in white. Prince Viserys Targaryen made six, his triple dragon looking as proud as any of them. Prince Viserys was sixth in line to the Iron Throne, and had been dubbed with the moniker "Lackland" in his youth, until his brother Aemon heard it said too many times, and granted him a large tract of land in the Riverlands centered around the village of Pennytree, along with the rights, and some funds, to raise a castle there. Now the popular Prince had come to fight in honor of his King and Nephew.

Each High Lord was given a place high above the salt, but all of them were below the Dragons.

In the center sat Aegon, who was still angry that his Uncle and Mother had forbidden him to enter into the competition. To his left sat the Queen Regent, Elia Martell, and beside her was Princess Rhaenys. They were chatting with Lady Sansa, who sat at the King's immediate left.

Directly behind him stood the knights Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Balon Swann.

At his right were his Kin from Summerhall, with Prince Aemon sitting next to him, followed by Princess Cersei and the Dowager Queen Rhaella, who was watching over Jaena, Margaery, and sweet Rhaella as they gossiped about all the dashing knights.

"Your brother is truly handsome, isn't he, Margaery?" Jaena said as the first contenders came forth to challenge the champions. The Knight of Flowers had challenged her brother Daeron.

Daeron's wife smiled wide, and they were soon joined by Rhaenys, and they chattered over Robb Stark, who had challenged Jaehaerys.

Next to take the field was Ser Edric Baratheon, Margaery's cousin, and heir to Storm's End. He seemed to slow at Prince Viserys' banner, but moved along, to strike his lance against the white shield of Ser Arthur Dayne. "There is glory in besting a Prince, aye, but more for besting the Sword of the Morning" He called.

Lord Edmure Tully came next, smiling as he struck the shield of his dear friend, the Prince of Pennys.

The Red Viper assessed the remaining two champions, and obviously thought Ser Richard of the Kingsguard the weaker, for it was to him the challenge was delivered. In a haste to take their place as the last challenger, many noblemen, young and old, jostled forward, and leapt out of the way as a ghost galloped forward.

The Knight of the Laughing Tree had come to Summerhall.

The destrier was blood red, the rider snowy white. On his shield was a weirwood tree, and red paint was on his greathelm, in the shape of a red smile. He bowed before the King, and then struck the shield of the White Lion.

The champions formed against their challengers. Ser Arthur Dayne faced Ser Edric Baratheon in the lane closest to them, while furthest away, Ser Richard Horpe faced Prince Oberyn Martell. A trumpet sounded, and the fourteen thundered down the field at each other to the roar of the crowd. The crash of lances cracking raised another roar, but every man remained ahorse.

The second pass proved to be more fruitful, as first Robb Stark, then Ser Richard Horpe lost their seats, and the Knight of the Laughing Tree seemed to taking the worst from Ser Jaime.

"I recognize the mystery rider." Declared the King. "He's playing with Ser Jaime."

"He is." Agreed Aemon. "I fear the Lion is about to be trounced."

While Jaehaerys and Robb Stark hacked at each other with swords, The Red Viper danced around Ser Richard. Even faced with such a prestigious foe, the knight was undaunted, laughing whenever a blow was dealt to him, or, more rarely, when he landed one on his challenger.

"Uncle Oberyn has underestimated Ser Richard, I fear." Aegon commented to the Prince. "He loves to fight, our Ser Richard."

Meanwhile, Daeron and Viserys still clashed with their opponents, but Ser Arthur had lost his seat to Baratheon, and now crashed against each other, sword on sword.

Ser Jaime fared worst however, for as he prepared to end the farce of the mystery knight, he was shocked to find a lance crashing into his helmet, bending it into his face.

The not-so-Young Lion crashed into the dirt, and his opponent dismounted in order to help him to his feet. Ser Jaime evidently said something, for the Weirwood Knight called out to the King. "He says it was well struck!"

Ser Richard Horpe had been finally defeated by Prince Oberyn, the Sword of the Morning by Ser Edric, and the smallfolk cheered him off to the chant of "Mad Moth! Mad Moth! Mad Moth!"

By the time Ser Arthur fell to the young Stag, Jaehaerys had also fallen to Robb Stark, but Viserys and Lord Edmure still rode tilt after tilt. Breaking six lances, they eventually decided to break the stalemate with swords, but after ten minutes the conflict was yet to be resolved.

No one rode half as well as the Knight of Flowers and Prince Daeron. They made quite a show, breaking a total of nine lances, before Ser Loras was finally unseated. Daeron leapt from the saddle, and waited for his foe on foot, a hand on his sword hilt. Ser Loras regained his senses, and lunged at the Prince, long axe in hand. Daeron calmly deflected all of the blows, before finally lightly deflecting the axe with his sword, causing the blade to sink into the ground.

Before Ser Loras could remove it, Daeron delivered a decisive blow to his brother-in-laws head, knocking him senseless to the ground.

All eyes were now on the long duel taking place, but once both Prince and Lord tired, they called out to the King. "Let chance decide it!" They agreed.

With a nod from his Uncle, King Aegon moved to stand at the edge of the box. He removed a golden dragon, stamped with his likeness. "The Dragon to my Uncle! The King to my Lord Tully!"

He flipped it, and all the crowd followed it's flight. It landed close to Ser Richard Horpe, who cried out the result. "A dragon!"

So the new champions began to take their places, and the defeated had their pavilions taken down. The King was not finished with one of them, however. "Liontamer! I bid you to remove your helm. Own your glory!"

The Knight of the Laughing Tree turned back, and all the crowd was silent.

"Would you refuse your King?" Aegon smiled coyly.

The Knight reached for his helm, and slowly removed it. Those who recognized him gasped, those who didn't asked their neighbors. "A Prince!" Cried Daeron.

For indeed it was Jon, and all the crowd seemed to suddenly remember the quiet Prince of Dragonstone.

"Forgive me, your Grace." He said. "I did not wish to trick you."

The King laughed. "There is nothing to apologize for, _brother_."

The tournament continued with all its splendor, and many foes fell before Daeron's lance. Harrold Arryn, who took the name after Lord Jon's death, followed by Lancel Lannister, as well as his Uncle Tyland, who had the blue eyes of his mother Lysa but the gold hair of his Father Tywin. So too fell all three Karstarks, Daryn Hornwood, Patrek Mallister, Donnel Swann, Daemon Sand, and Renly Baratheon, to name but a few. Daeron had soon won the love of the commons, and he was happy to have it.

The grandeur of the tourney was evident over the next few days, with the place of champions being so hard fought for. Ser Baelor Hightower took the place of Robb Stark, but was defeated by Theon Greyjoy on foot. The Red Viper defeated Ser Lyn Corbray, Andar and Robar Royce, but fell to Ser Garlan Tyrell. Prince Viserys held his own, but eventually defeated a mystery knight, who was revealed to be Brienne of Tarth when she was felled by the Strongboar. Strongboar fell by chance to Ser Perwyn Frey when Frey's lance deflected off Crakehall's shield into his helmet.

At the tourney's end, the King had the champions come forward. They had been given time to converse among themselves as to which of the assembled ladies deserved the title of Queen of Love and Beauty.

"Cousin Daeron! You have been the finest lance through all of the competition, give us the name of the Queen!"

Daeron strode forward. "Forgive me, your Grace, but I cannot. Mine own Lady wife was not chosen, for that I feel remorse, allow your own brother to announce it!"

The King turned to Jon, who stepped up to stand beside Daeron. "Your Grace, we have chosen your own sister, the Princess Rhaenys."

The crown of roses, blood red, was given to the Princess, while the Queen Mother gave a look of distaste to Jon. Then the King called each of the Champions forward individually, to grant them whatever boon they would ask of him.

Daeron and Ser Garlan asked only that the King be as noble as his Father, Prince Rhaegar, which made Lord Tyrell appear as though he had just sucked on a lemon. Ser Perwyn Frey was granted the Castle Rosby, which he claimed through his Mother. Theon Greyjoy requested that he be allowed to return to his home on the Iron Islands, which King Aegon granted, despite the reluctant look from Prince Aemon. Ormund Baratheon was named squire to the King, in accordance to Ser Edric's wish. Lastly, Jon came forward.

"Your Grace." He began. "I ask that you grant me the hand of your Sister Rhaenys in marriage."

The Royal box was an assortment of expressions. The Queen Mother looked as though she would spit venom, the Dowager Queen looked worried, Prince Aemon only slightly concerned, and King Aegon had a nervous look in his eyes as he looked to his Uncle for support.

"You said you would grant them any boon." Aemon pointed out. "There were no restrictions put in place."

"You cannot seriously think to marry Rhaenys to that bastard!?" Elia said.

The King had found confidence, and sternly turned to his Mother. "I am the King, and a King must keep his word. Rhaenys!" He called to his sister. "Will you accept this match?"

Rhaenys had been smiling at Jon, but now she answered her Brother. "Yes, I will wed him."

The King turned back to his brother. "Very well! You shall be wed!"

* * *

 **Oldtown**

The festive spirits might have been dampened by the controversy of Jon and Rhaenys betrothal, but great crowd that had gathered at Summerhall now found it easy to raise their spirits again as King Aegon was formally coronated.

The gifts had been lavish, though none as grand as the three Dragon eggs that a Pentoshi Magister bestowed upon. Black and scarlet, green and bronze, cream and gold, the eggs were a wonder to even the Targaryens.

The High Septon had travelled from King's Landing, the whole Royal Family was in attendance, as well as the Great Houses. Lords High and Low jockied for the best look as the crown that had once been borne by King Aenys I was lowered onto King Aegon VI's head.

The day was the three-hundredth anniversary of the Conqueror's coronation, the place the same as three centuries before, the Starry Sept of Oldtown. It was five Aegons since the Seven Kingdoms had been truly Seven Kingdoms, and three Aegons since Dragons still had flown over Westeros.

The Seven Blessings bestowed upon him, anointed with the Seven Holy Oils, and a crown upon his head, Aegon rose and was hailed by every person in attendance, but none as loudly, nor as proudly, as his Uncle Aemon, Prince of Summerhall.

"Long may he reign!"

* * *

 _So the Greyjoy Rebellion remained the same, seeing as though Balon Greyjoy would still be a fool, but now Theon's going home, a renowned warrior. Mance Rayder will appear in the coming chapter, I only delayed the happenings North of the Wall. The dragons will make an appearance as well, though under different names. We'll see how well the three young Dragons fare with the turning of the century._


End file.
